


A Night to Remember

by themoonandmargot



Category: Smosh
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Pining, Prom but like for grown-ass adults, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24819145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonandmargot/pseuds/themoonandmargot
Summary: When Smosh receives invitations for the first ever YouTube Prom, Shayne sets his own goal for the night: to not fall in love with his best friend.
Relationships: Damien Haas/Shayne Topp
Comments: 16
Kudos: 114





	A Night to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> On this day in 2013, I wrote my first Smosh fanfic. Who would've known that I'd be doing the same thing seven years later but in the middle of a global pandemic? Wild how things work out that way. Well, enjoy!

_You are cordially invited to_

_A Night to Remember_

_YouTube Prom_

_Saturday, the 30th of April_

_From 7 PM to midnight_

_Anaheim, CA_

_Info and RSVP at https://bit.ly/3cOy1xl_

* * *

It all starts off as a joke.

Matt walks into the meeting room with a pack of the things, like business cards of blue and gold. He passes them around the cast with a sneer, “They’ve done it again, guys.”

They read the invitations, each of them taking the time to process the paper in front of them. Then one by one, they lose it.

All of them are cordially invited to YouTube _Prom._

The initial group reaction is confusion. Why is it a thing, why is it necessary, who thought it was a good idea, who would actually go – and the office dissolves into one, big, communal roast on YouTube, until Damien's voice cuts through the noise.

“But like… we _have_ to go, right?”

"What? No," Ian says. "There's no way I'm going to something as stupid as YouTube Prom."

Sarah's hand goes flying, landing on Ian's arm. "No, wait. Isn't the idea of YouTube Prom so stupid that we just have to see it for ourselves?"

"Yeah, we can make a vlog about it. Show up just to see how much of a disaster it is," Courtney adds.

Keith raises a finger in the air. "Okay, wait, I'm super down about dressing up and renting a party bus for this shit."

"Oh my god, are we actually considering this right now?" Olivia asks. The group pauses, lingering on the possibility of attending a dumb YouTuber-exclusive event.

Then Noah snickers. "TanaCon 2.0," he mumbles, and it's all they need to launch themselves into their next Smosh Pit video: Crashing YouTube Prom.

They start planning right away, the stupidity inspiring them. Yet in the corner of the room, Shayne sits quietly and plans something entirely different.

_How do I not completely fall in love with my best friend at prom?_

* * *

Two weeks later, Shayne is in his kitchen. He’s in the middle of raiding his pantry for the one ingredient he could’ve sworn he had, when his phone buzzes. FaceTime request from Damien. He accepts the call, despite the pressure of almost-burnt-food behind him. “Heyyyy.”

“Uh, are you busy right now?”

“Nah, just making dinner,” Shayne says. He fishes a can of green chili peppers from the depths of his shelves and trots back to his stove.

“That sounds pretty busy to me.”

Shayne props his phone against the wall and reaches into a nearby drawer for a can-opener. “No, really, I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Uh…” Damien takes a second to watch Shayne crank open the can, then looks away. “Did you know Olivia’s bringing Sam to YouTube Prom? And Sarah’s bringing Claudio?”

Shayne snorts. “I know now. Why?”

“I just didn’t know it was gonna be a date thing.”

Shayne waves a dismissive hand at the camera, metal lid between his fingers. “Well, yeah, of course they were gonna make it a date thing. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.” He grabs the can of peppers and chucks it in with the rest of his food. At the same time, Damien looks aside and says something, but the hiss of the pot prevents Shayne from hearing him. Leaning forward, Shayne turns his ear to his phone. “Huh?”

“Did you wanna date?”

Shayne knows that there’s no way Damien is asking what it sounds like he’s asking, but he still leans back, eyes wide. _“What?”_

“I mean – did you want a – were you thinking of bringing a date?” Damien clarifies.

“Oh. Oh,” Shayne says. He chuckles a bit, but he inhales a tad too sharply at the image of being Damien’s date to _dumb YouTube Prom,_ and he starts coughing uncontrollably.

“You good?” Damien asks, watching Shayne throw himself away from the camera.

“Oh-ho my go-od, yeah, uh–” Shayne points to the stove and slaps his chest with the other hand, “spicy.” He steps away from Damien to stir his food and settle himself _(breathe, calm down, stop fucking blushing)_ before returning to the camera. “God, no,” he rasps, “I’m not planning on bringing a date. You?”

Damien itches a spot on his cheek. “Uh… I was thinking about asking Kelsey.”

 _Kelsey._ Shayne thinks back to the Streamy Awards months ago, when he and Damien first had the chance to rub elbows with some other online personalities. Kelsey had bumped into them at the afterparty, commending them for all their hard work following the Defy shutdown. She was specifically complimentary, however, of the Smosh Games side of things—only natural, considering how much gaming she did at Buzzfeed. But Shayne remembers seeing the light sparkle in Damien’s eyes as she spoke, and he definitely remembers the way he teased Damien afterwards.

What goes around comes around, right?

“Oh,” Shayne says, the feeling of _dumb, dumb, stupid_ panging in his chest for the second time that night. “Yeah, she seems nice.”

“But we’re filming, so I don’t know if that would complicate things. And god, if the fans found out…"

“You don’t have to be in the video if you don’t want to.”

“I guess. Yeah.” Damien swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “But we’ve only hung out a couple of times, and taking someone to a cheesy YouTuber event for your first date is…”

Shayne watches the way Damien’s teeth catch on his lip and realizes this has nothing to do with being in a video. He sighs, quietly. “Damien… if you’re worried about things not working out, then I think a cheesy YouTuber event is the best place for you to screw up,” he says. “Not to say you _will_ screw up, but, y’know. Might as well ask her out now. Just keep it low stakes and you don’t have to stress about it.”

“Yeah,” Damien says, distant. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it, though. Thanks, man.”

Shayne takes a second to watch Damien before turning to stir his food. His own mind is stirring, swirling with things he wants to say but can’t. If it were any other close friend of his, Shayne would have no problem expressing his desire to attend the event together; it’s normal to be disappointed over lost time with friends, right? Yet Shayne knows there’s a greedy something else dropping in his throat, and it feels more noble to swallow it down instead of spitting out the truth.

Meanwhile, Damien notices the train of thought chugging across Shayne’s eyes. He doesn’t know what he said to make Shayne think so hard, but if the years of friendship have taught him anything, it’s that Shayne is going to need a hand to pull him up from the tracks. So Damien says something else. “Also, another question,” he asks, “where are you getting your tux?”

Shayne guffaws, nearly dropping his spoon into the pot. “We’re wearing _tuxes?”_

* * *

Shayne doesn’t know what to expect when he walks into the office on the night of April 30. But some of his friends are already there, and they must not’ve known either.

Sarah sees him first and immediately starts laughing. “Oh my _god,_ Shayne!”

The rest turn to look at him, then join in the laughter. Shayne beams at them—Ian in a classy grey suit, Kimmy in a red velvet dress, Sarah in some poofy pink number, Matt in his suspender getup—and smooths his own charcoal suit before striking a power pose. “You like it?”

Sarah laughs harder as Matt gets up from his seat. He tugs on the extra fabric hanging off his arms, chuckling, “Why is it so big?”

“I wasn’t gonna buy a new, tailored suit for YouTube Prom, so I just grabbed this at a thrift store the other day. Only seven dollars!”

“You look like a little boy at his First Communion.”

“Seven dollars, though.”

“What is this?” Ian giggles beside them, vlog camera in hand. He’s the first to address the other ridiculous thing Shayne’s brought into the building: a cardboard cutout of former United States President, Barack Obama.

Shayne smiles and places a hand on the shoulder of the cutout. “Oh, this is Barack. He’s my date for the night,” he introduces, smirking.

“Oh, wow. Was it on Tinder or OKCupid that you guys met?” Kimmy jokes.

“Ah… Amazon Prime,” Shayne replies. “And I definitely spent more money on him than I did the suit, by the way.”

After Claudio walks in from the restroom and reacts to Shayne in the same shit-losing manner, the next half-hour is spent waiting for the others to file into the office. Courtney is next to arrive, black dress cinched to perfection and heels to match. Noah and Keith walk in together, both donning patterns of the richest, deepest hues. Then Olivia and Sam show up like an undercover crime-fighting duo in stark black and white. With the entire group together, they file out of the office and into their rented party bus for the night.

None of them really take the drive to Anaheim seriously. The laughter, selfies, and awkward pole dancing feel real in the moment, but the reality of their destination doesn’t hit them until they’re pulling into the parking lot. In fact, it's only after stepping off the party bus that the Smosh cast realizes how massive YouTube Prom is. The entire perimeter of the twenty-acre Anaheim Convention Center is lit up, palm trees and fountains glowing multicolored in the orange sky. Starry, night-themed decorations litter the walkway to the center, and though some groups of well-groomed YouTubers linger behind to pose beside the displays, everyone knows where the real party resides: inside the glass building.

Through the main doors, the convention floor is packed with attendees. Food stalls line the hallways, and around the corner, the cast spots a massive dance floor filled with guests. The vlog camera whips to a nearby directory—just upstairs is the VR and video game room, the interactive photo booth, the Rainbow Room drag show, and the star and moon terraces.

The cast is pleasantly surprised. It’s a lot to take in, a long list of distractions. Yet deep in the corner of Shayne’s mind, a small voice whispers.

_I wonder where Damien is._

* * *

After a half-hour of vlogging, the group disintegrates, dispersed in different directions like moths set free in a light show. Shayne somehow ends up in a dense crowd near the dance floor, and though he isn’t alone, he’s uncomfortably aware of how out of place he feels. At least he and Courtney can chat over drinks, with the occasional interruption from drunk catcallers.

The night brings a different interruption, however, when something throttles Shayne sideways. Courtney’s hands fly out in front of her, instincts urging her to catch whatever’s falling. It’s no use, though, as Shayne’s drink sloshes onto his clothes and the floor. For a second, the pandemonium of the convention center disappears and all that exists is the orange splotch spreading across Shayne’s white button-up. Everything returns once they both meet eyes. "Well,” Courtney jokes, “at least it was already ugly.”

Then, a voice. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry," someone yells over the music. Shayne and Courtney turn to the sound, and from behind Obama steps out an absolutely stunning woman with brown wavy hair, a sparkling burgundy dress, and the warmest, most beautiful eyes.

"Oh my god," Shayne blurts, suddenly very warm.

"Oh my _god!"_ she echoes. Her look of guilt morphs into a massive smile, and before Shayne can even furrow his brows in confusion, he nearly topples over again. Courtney elbows past him, screeching, then lets her arms fly around her apparent friend. "Holy crap, Courtney! I feel like I haven't seen you in forever," the woman bellows in the crook of Courtney’s neck.

“Right?! Oh my god, this is crazy.” They unstick their cheeks as they lean back, arms still entangled. “I was not expecting to see you here. You look _great,”_ Courtney gasps.

“Ugh, thank you! And are you kidding me? You look _amazing._ Smokeshow. Smokeshow!”

Shayne notices the way Courtney tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and tilts her head, bashful. _Hmm._ Then he musters an awkward smile as the two release their hold on each other and turn to him. “Uh, Shayne, this is Megan. We met at the Streamys a while back. I showed you a bunch of her dancing videos, I think…?” Courtney introduces, fidgeting with the collar of her dress. “And Megan, this is Shayne, my friend and coworker at Smosh.”

Shayne can’t help the pull of his lips into a smirk, one he quickly turns into an inconspicuous smile. _And coworker._

“Hi, Shayne, nice to meet you,” Megan says, shaking his hand before reaching to scratch her head. “Sorry about the suit. I could, like, Venmo you however much it cost…”

“Nah, no worries. It’s not worth it.” Megan’s face falls, and Shayne jumps to assure, “I mean – no – like literally not worth it. It cost like, a dollar fifty.”

Megan smiles her million dollar smile of gratitude and turns to Courtney, leaving Shayne to sip on his drink and cling onto his cardboard date. If he had known he’d end up being a third wheel at YouTube Prom, he would’ve just stayed home with Barack and his unstained suit. But no, here comes another charming stranger from the Streamys, another mystery woman falling from the heavens to woo his closest friends. 

Not that he’s jealous. Or at least, he’s not jealous for the sake of being jealous. No, he only stares at the women before him and wishes he could have that same level of courage. Shayne has always admired Courtney’s ability to wear her heart on her sleeve; what he’d do for her to impart some of that wisdom—of loving openly, loving fearlessly. The need grows so strong, that even in the frenzy of the dance floor, he doesn’t realize he’s back in the conversation until Courtney’s practically screaming his name.

He blinks, senses returning to him. “What’s up?”

Courtney stares wide-eyed at him while Megan says, “Uh, I’m gonna head to the minibar real quick. Did you want me to grab you anything?”

Shayne winces. “Nothing, no, thanks.” Megan nods, heels clacking away, and he adds, “Probably better that way.”

“Yeah, probably,” Courtney snorts. Brows raised, she crosses her arms and turns to Shayne. “ _Bro.”_

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m being super uncool in front of your new _girl crush,"_ Shayne grunts, exasperated. "I’m just as uncomfortable as you are, trust me.”

Courtney stares at him for a second before the incredulous look across her face merges into a tired, forgiving smile. She turns the vlog camera she's been carrying all night over in her hands, sighing, “No, sorry, I – you’re fine, Shayne. It’s just…" She looks off into the crowd, in the direction of the minibar. "Would you be pissed if I left to go to Megan’s apartment?"

 _"Oh,"_ Shayne says, eyebrows shooting up. Courtney tosses him a look and he coughs. "No. Why would I be pissed?"

"'Cause I know I would if I were left alone at freaking YouTube Prom!" Courtney sputters. "And I know you've been sorta out of it since you found out Damien wouldn't be joining us, so I just don't want to add to the list of things that suck for you tonight."

Exposed, Shayne starts to flush red. "What? No, I…" Courtney throws him another look, and he pauses to take a breath. “Listen, I appreciate the concern, but I’ll manage. Just leave! Go with Meagan." Courtney looks up at him, a challenging glint in her eyes. He snorts, shaking his head, and snatches the camera from out of her hand. "Go,” he pressures once again.

Courtney frowns. "Are you sure? I don't wanna just leave you here."

"Listen, I'll be fine, I swear." Shayne pulls an arm around his cardboard cutout. "I have Barack."

With a roll of her eyes, she adjusts the fit of her dress, fiddling the fabric into perfection. "Shut up." Then she leans in and claps a hand over Shayne's arm. "Thank you."

Shayne grins. "Go get 'em, tiger."

Courtney snickers. "I should be telling you that." She takes two, three steps back, before letting out a full, hearty laugh. “Dude. Find Damien,” she yells over the crowd. Shayne’s eyebrow quirks upwards in shock, but Courtney doesn’t see the need to apologize for the bluntness. It’s necessary, and more importantly, she’s right. _Her tiny piece of advice._

Stepping away, she bumps into Megan. There are two drinks, one for the both of them. Even from this distance, Shayne distinguishes the way Courtney switches her drink from one hand to the other, notices how she glances at Megan’s free hand. It’s not long until she slips her fingers between Megan's. Looking up from the touch, Megan beams at her.

Shayne hardly even notices the way his shirt still clings wet to his chest when he watches them pull each other into the crowd, smiles huge across their faces.

* * *

In spite of Courtney's parting words, Shayne wanders the floor with no intention of finding any of his friends, including Damien. At this point in the night, he’s too drained for group partying… or wishful thinking. He decides the easiest choice for him is isolation, but soon enough, he realizes he doesn't have a choice. After having Barack Obama stolen from him by a Paul brother, Shayne witnesses the event like the true wallflower he was meant to be. Turns out YouTube Prom is different from a distance.

There are a lot of people with vlog cameras, all with the same idea Smosh had: to crash a party they were invited to and reduce it to a joke. Except, like classic influencers, they overestimated how much everyone else would care. Once they realized no amount of mockery could steal away that attention, they either left or joined the fun. Shayne assumes most of his friends have met the same fate—giving in, socializing, sneaking away under the moonlight.

On the other hand, there are tons of people who have taken prom seriously, who've treated it as something more than some publicity stunt. For them, this is a real once-in-a-lifetime. The ladies dress like princesses, clutching onto their color-coordinated princes, and they laugh, dance, kiss the night away. They fascinate Shayne the most, maybe because he doesn't quite understand them. Or maybe because his best friend's one of them. Or maybe because he wants to join them. Probably a combination of the three.

In the end, Shayne's just one of the loners. There are others like him, sipping on hidden drinks and toe-tapping to the music. He wishes he had the courage to turn to one of them and hit up a conversation, but he can't handle more potential awkwardness, and anyway, he's sort of satisfied with their silent solidarity. At least, that's what he tells himself.

 _God._ This really is like high school. Except, Shayne barely even knows what normal high school is, and during all those years of his life he always had the same one person at his side–

“Hey.”

Shayne looks up from the scuffs on his leather shoes to find Damien. The first thing Shayne notices is Damien’s outfit, a sandy white suit with a light green dress shirt. Though maybe a little dorky, it’s a bold choice, one that shows how much Damien really tried. But the surprise wears off and Shayne realizes that the recipient of all this effort is nowhere to be found. He clears his throat. “Hey,” he replies, tearing his eyes away from the empty crook of Damien’s arm. “You, uh... look like a used car salesman recently immigrated to Cuba.”

Equally dry, Damien flicks his eyelashes up from the floor to look at Shayne square in the face. “You look like a Tom Cruise lookalike-for-hire at a wedding rehearsal.”

Shayne purses his lips. “Touché.”

Damien snorts before he throws himself against the wall and joins Shayne in laughter. It’s nice to finally be together, giggling in their corner of the room like every other party they’ve been to. They're both out of their element, but despite the neon lights and body heat, they make this night their own. And in a way, it's the boldest thing Smosh will do tonight: stand and be still together amidst the chaos.

It's in their relative silence that Damien finds the perfect time to answer the question between them, pressing his shoulder into the wall. “Kelsey ditched me for the Buzzfeed crew,” he tells Shayne, rather blissfully.

Vengeful, Shayne snaps out of the comfy warmth of the moment and faces Damien. "What?"

"Sorry, wording. I suggested she go ahead and hang out with her friends." Damien shrugs. "It, uh… wasn't working out."

Shayne eyes him, the small, accepting press-together of Damien's lips, before sighing away his own contempt. "Aw, man, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I owe it to you that I'm not completely bummed right now."

They turn back to the crowd before them, to the sweaty bodies on the dance floor. Even in each other's company, they feel the unease of standing witness to a party that was never meant for them. They know it's only a matter of time until one of them loses his patience and ends the night early for the both of them.

Then the music cuts, leaving the building eerily quiet. Everyone looks to the front of the room, where the DJ leans into his mic and asks people to cozy up for the one slow song of the night. For Damien and Shayne, the inevitable dimming of lights is like passing a car crash—upsetting as it is striking. They've officially made it to _this_ part of prom now.

The people who came for booze and music clear the way; the rest of their night will probably lead them to a nightclub downtown. But the others rush to the dance floor, like a colony of worker ants. They pour in from other rooms of the convention center, always one leading the other by the hand, always smiling. Some aren't even couples. Some are clear friends, giggling away at their mutual lack of a date. Some are swaying circles of entire friend groups.

Damien and Shayne share a look before dissolving into muffled laughter. Being there has turned palpably awkward for them, but they know better than to ignore it. “God, if I had to slow dance with Kelsey right now, I think I’d throw up,” Damien chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess that sort of would be a weird first date."

Damien's smile is warm, forever fond. “So what you’re saying is that it’s a good thing that she ditched me?”

“Yeah, definitely a good thing,” Shayne laughs. Then his eyes soften in the pinkish glow of the auditorium. “For you and for me.”

Damien’s face softens, eyebrows lowering. He eyes his friend, almost with suspicion, as Shayne swallows and looks back to the dance floor. Weirdness aside, it hits Damien then that they’re lucky to be here—both of them, together—not only tonight, but in the grand scheme of things. It’s little moments like these that make Damien think he’s exactly where he's supposed to be. And it’s strange, because the disappointment of his date with Kelsey still burns in his chest, but something about standing silent here with Shayne burns brighter. 

So Damien settles himself into the pulsing energy of the moment, warm and personal. It isn’t until tiny flecks of light shimmer across the entire room that the trance is broken. They both glance up; who knew they had a disco ball in this place?

They chuckle a bit at the sight, then bring themselves back to Earth, back to their little spot in the corner. Damien scans the crowd one last time before turning to Shayne. He hesitates a bit, momentarily swapping his words with the gesturing of his cup. Finally, he asks, “Should we head out?”

Shayne looks up. “Do you want to?”

Damien’s smile is bashful, beautiful. "Yeah."

"Me too," Shayne breathes, like a shared secret. A grin blossoms across his cheeks. "The Smosh guys can handle themselves, right?"

"Oh, I'm sure," Damien says, eyes wide in the way that shows he doesn't really care if he's right or not. Then he pushes himself off the wall, stretching his limbs in preparation for a world outside the party. “C'mon, let’s get out of here.”

Damien steps forward. Like always, Shayne follows him. The crowd behind them dances on, a parallel of quaint, magical love.

* * *

It's one a.m. by the time they make it to the hotel. Everyone at Smosh had decided booking some rooms for the group would be better than making the late-night journey back home, and Shayne proves it. He passes the point of tired, granting him the renewed yet limited energy to stay upright. The night is hazy in his eyes, in the elevator up to his and Damien’s inevitably-shared room. Except now Damien is noticeably, distractingly disheveled, shirt half unbuttoned and suit jacket slung over his shoulder, and maybe the sight blurs Shayne's vision more than the exhaustion.

Neither of them have the wits to get ready for bed, both instead falling into their own mattresses upon unlocking their hotel room door. It soon grows quiet, the rhythm of their breath turning soft and slow. After a while, Shayne presumes his friend is asleep.

But Damien surprises him. “You know, this was my first real prom," he says, a rather random fact to throw into the silence. "Or I guess, just my first prom. Not sure if I’d qualify it as real.”

Shayne pauses and lets Damien think he's asleep, too, just for a second. “It was my first prom, too. I would say it's real.”

“Mmm. And it pretty much turned out exactly as expected.”

Maybe Damien doesn't mean it to be self-deprecating, but Shayne still senses the disappointment in Damien's voice. He wades in that same unfulfillment, though if he's being honest, the idea of YouTube Prom has always felt off to Shayne, for more reasons than the obvious.

All along, he knew this night wouldn't end perfectly. Perfect wasn't plausible, Shayne knew that, from the moment Matt had handed out those invitations. He thought the closest he'd get to perfect was screwing off with his friends. But even now, he wants more.

Shayne squeezes his eyes shut and the world goes fuzzy in his ears. The night is playing tricks on his brain, clouding his judgment. Now’s not the time or place to bring up _whatever this is,_ not that there ever has been a time or place, or that there ever will. Still, Shayne feels his body ramping up the energy for whatever stupid thing he’s about to unleash into the space between him and his best friend. _What happened to low stakes, no stress?_ he mentally curses. _Heed your own advice, goddamnit._

“Hey,” Damien suddenly says, all-knowing. “Did I say something again? I swear, I can hear you thinking.”

Shayne’s eyelids fly open. _But you’ve said dumb shit before and you’re still surviving, right?_

“Remember when we had that FaceTime call a while back, and you asked me if you should bring Kelsey as your date?” Shayne asks, lungs aching in his chest. “I don't know why but I thought… I thought you were gonna ask _me_ to be your date.”

Shayne titters, hoping the laughter will ease the tension in the room, but Damien doesn’t laugh. Instead, he brings his head further up on his mattress to watch Shayne. His words are pointed yet careful. “I mean, it was always sort of expected that we’d end up being each other’s date.”

Shayne nearly chokes. His tongue's gone dumb, and he lets it show through a shaky breath. “Was it?”

“Yeah. It’s always gonna be me and you, Shayne. I’m not forgetting that.”

That's all the explanation Damien needs for rocking Shayne's world, apparently, and the room dips back into silence. The air feels thick, stuffier than it was in the convention center. _Fuck._ Shayne closes his eyes once again. And exhaustion nearly drowns the dread until Damien's voice, quiet and precise, pulls him back into his body.

“You wanna dance?”

“...What?”

Shayne studies the figure atop Damien's bed and makes sure it really is his best friend, the same one supposedly asking him to dance. Eventually, Damien pushes himself off the edge of his mattress. He taps his phone a few times, then tosses it on the bed behind him. The sound of soft piano swirls into the air, cheapened by the speakers of Damien’s phone.

He looks Shayne in the face. “Can’t attend prom without one final dance.”

Through the lamplight and sleepy tears, Shayne stares back and waits to see if his senses deceive him. “... _What?”_ he says again, except he’s already propping himself up in bed.

"You heard me! C’mon, Shayney-boy. Dance with me."

Shayne glances at Damien’s outstretched hand and lets out an awkward giggle of sorts. Now that the chance sits in front of him, he wants to find the entire thing preposterous, but he can’t deny the butterflies swirling in his stomach. So he takes Damien’s hand and rises to his feet. “Okay,” he says.

It’s decidedly different from the scene they witnessed on the dance floor earlier. Where bodies were falling upon each other before, they’re both stupidly careful to sidle up to each other now. “Uh,” Shayne says, eyes flickering, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Ah, really?” Damien swivels their clasped hands to a position near their chests. “My mom and I used to dance like this all the time when I was a kid. Hand on my shoulder.”

Shayne follows suit with a gently-placed hand on Damien’s shoulder–“aw, that’s sweet”–and beneath his arm, Damien is equally gentle to rest a hand on his waist. Shayne releases a quiet breath and chuckles. “Call me Mama Haas!”

“Hah, suuuure.”

“...So is it like, one two three…?”

“No, that’s a waltz. All we have to do at this point is sway.”

“Oh. Alright."

Slowly, they shuffle their feet in time with the music. Shayne keeps his head down and tries not to focus on the sinking feeling in his chest, though he fails.

He knows this is an offering of sorts, some kind of concession on Damien’s part. But something about this—the fleeting eyes, the sweaty palms, the reverence—doesn’t feel like pity. Instead, Damien leads him with a nervous energy that seems to pay no attention to who wanted what, to the realities outside of this dance. Eventually, Shayne lets himself grow small, protected in Damien’s grasp. And maybe that’s what this is: a self-concession, a self-allowance. Something entirely indulgent. Dwell in it for too long and watch it crumble around you.

It hits Shayne then that, _oh god,_ he wants nothing more than for it to last. He’s ashamed to commit to memory the soft weight of Damien’s hand on his waist. He’s ashamed to pretend that any of this is real. But he’s only got until the end of the song, so can anyone blame him?

The sound of Damien’s sigh pulls Shayne out of his thoughts. Focusing on the present feels much better, so it seems. Except the singer on the phone begins to croon for them, and everything about the present drops to nothing, until the only existence at Shayne’s fingertips is Damien, and the song he picked for him…

_Your eyes, blue skies_

_They live inside my mind_

_I watch it all the time_

_Rewind, rewind it all_

_I don’t know, I don’t know_

_I don’t know if I’m ready to let go_

_Go, go, go_

_Let go, go, go…_

* * *

At the Smoffice, Monday means back to work as usual. People filter in slowly throughout the morning, still reeling from the wild weekend. In the edit bay, Kevin works alone, and the lazy click of his mouse is the only sound accompanying him.

Until a gentle knock raps at the door, when Damien pokes his head through. “Hey, Kevin. Sorry to bother,” he softly greets. “Do you happen to know if I left my laptop in here over the weekend?”

Kevin motions to a back table and Damien scurries in. Kevin leans back and swivels in his chair, resting his eyes from the screen to watch Damien pick up the stray laptop in the corner. “Ah, thanks, Kev. Been looking for this all morning,” Damien sighs.

“No problem, man.” Kevin smiles as he pulls his headphones back over his ears, but then he peels them back off before Damien can step out. “Oh, wait up, you’re never gonna believe this,” he says, leaning forward in his seat. “So you know how you and Shayne were the last ones with the vlog camera on Saturday? Turns out someone accidentally hit record sometime during the party. There’s, like, two hours of uninterrupted footage, all until the battery died.”

Damien laughs, stunned. “Oh really? Dang, that’s–” He pauses, the images of late-night slow dances filling his mind. He swallows and says, “That’s crazy. Did… did you watch all of it?”

“Nah. I barely even skimmed through ‘cause all of it’s unusable. The lens cap was on the entire time,” Kevin snorts. “But, just from the audio, it sounds like it starts with Shayne and Courtney in the party, and ends with you and Shayne getting into an Uber…?”

Damien releases a small sigh of relief and smiles. “Uh, a Lyft, actually. But yeah. Same thing,” he chuckles. Kevin shrugs, playful, before looking back to his computer screen. This is Damien’s cue to leave, Damien knows this. All he has left to do is say some words of farewell and walk out. But he only scratches his chin and glances around, posed awkwardly against the door.

“Uh,” Damien croaks. “When you get a chance, do you think you could lend me the SD card from that camera? There was a, uh, a song they played that night that’s been stuck in my head all weekend, and I was hoping it was caught in the footage.”

Kevin slaps his hands over his cheeks. “Oh god. You just reminded me. All the copyrighted music. I have no idea how I’m editing that out.” He drags his palms down his face. “Jesus, whose idea was it anyway to film a video for YouTube Prom?” Damien decides to bite his tongue and offer a smile of sympathy. Kevin shakes his head. “Sorry, just – here, you can grab it now. I already imported all the files I needed.” Kevin ducks down below his desk, then fishes out the SD card, wielding it in the air like a sword.

Damien takes it. It feels safe in his hand. “Thanks, man.”

Across the building, Damien finds refuge in the large Mythical meeting room. He flicks on the lights to find an overwhelmingly empty table, free for temporary taking. Only in isolation can Damien complete his work… though even now he’s unsure what that work is.

He takes a seat at the benches and slides the SD card into his computer. He clicks through the files, and the thumbnails that pop up warm his heart: various shots of people’s outfits, the party bus, that dumb Barack Obama cardboard cutout he never got to see in person. Everyone looks so happy in all the clips he pulls up, and a part of him aches to know that he wasn’t there with his friends. Still, he doesn’t exactly regret how things panned out. The night ended… okay, after all.

After taking a quick glance around the empty room, Damien finally scrolls to the last recording on the chip. The thumbnail is black, but he knows exactly what it is. He double-clicks it into a new window, one that proves Kevin was right—an hour and 57 minutes of audio. Damien hits play.

Loud music and a roaring crowd blast his laptop speakers. Damien groans, jumping to turn down the volume. He knew there wasn't much of a chance of finding anything useful in this recording, but now he knows he really ought to lower his expectations. He sighs and keeps listening.

There's a loud, shrill voice within all the noise. It starts muffled, but then seems to grow against the crowd. Damien is startled to hear how clear their words are.

"Are you sure? I don't wanna just leave you here."

_Courtney._

The next voice is closer, louder, deeper. "I'll be fine, I swear. I have Barack."

Damien smiles. _Shayne._

This must be the moment Shayne and Courtney parted ways. Damien knows little about this part of the night, but he definitely knows it worked out for Courtney in the end. _SO I JUST MADE OUT WITH A GIRL,_ she'd send in the group chat later that night, much to the excitement of all their friends.

"Shut up," she says back in the recording. Then a pause. "Thank you."

Shayne's happiness is evident in his voice. "Go get 'em, tiger."

"I should be telling you that." The audio dips back into the pumping music, into the chaos of the crowd. Damien leans back in his chair. _So that's it,_ he thinks, defeated. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find in this recording, but for some reason that wasn't it. Until…

_"...Damien…"_

_What?_

Damien rewinds a couple of seconds.

_"...Damien…"_

He clicks back. Again.

_"...Damien…"_

Again.

_"...I, Damien…"_

And then he hears it, the tiniest voice in the crowd.

"Find Damien."

Damien flies back in his seat again, for a different reason. It's definitely Courtney talking, who's definitely talking to Shayne. And he thinks this is the moment that got him and Shayne alone together, that caused the Lyft ride out of the dance, that led to slow songs and clasped hands and–

_..._

_At the hotel, Shayne tells Damien that he thought his best friend was asking him to prom instead of Kelsey. Admittedly, Damien does not know how to react to this. But for some reason he responds by asking Shayne to slow dance, and it turns out nicer than expected._

_However, a minute into dancing, Shayne turns pink and dips his head. "What are we doing?" he laughs._

_Damien smiles, turned equally giddy. “We're dancing. Now stop stepping on my toes!”_

_“Sorry! Sorry. Okay.” Shayne looks down, the grin on his face narrowing, and Damien feels the weight of Shayne's body lean onto him. He yawns. “I’m just… sleepy.”_

_Damien breathes slow through his nose. “Me too.”_

_For reasons unknown, Shayne drops his head against Damien’s shoulder. Damien pauses, then sighs, rumbling long and low, and pulls Shayne ever closer._

_Clumsy-footed and quiet into the night, they dwell on the mutual comfort between them. The music easily fills the silence in the room, but it doesn’t hide the newness of the situation—not how strange it feels, but how strange it doesn’t. In a way, this is the “perfect” Damien wanted all along, dancing the night away with someone he cares about. Except this isn’t the night he expected, nor is it the night he’ll know how to deal with in the morning._

_So he doesn’t know what to do when the song comes to an end, along with the swaying. Yet they stay stuck in their positions._

_Damien swallows. "Shayne." His voice is low; he wonders if Shayne can feel the rumble of his chest against his ear._

_"Damien," Shayne murmurs, "thank you for asking me to dance." Slowly, he pulls his head off Damien's shoulder and looks up at him._

_Damien’s breath hitches in his throat. Shayne's face is so close, blue eyes so hazy and curious. He feels Shayne looking across his own face, jumping between both hazel eyes, down to his mouth as he speaks. "Thank you for accepting my invitation," he merely says, attributing the behavior to exhaustion._

_But Shayne seems all too conscious when he lets go of Damien's hand and rests his own hand along the crook of Damien's neck. Now Shayne grips warm atop both of Damien's shoulders, and Damien doesn't know how else to react other than positioning himself similarly, his free hand lowering to rest upon the other side of Shayne's waist._

_"This isn't how my mom and I used to dance," Damien whispers, his one last inhibition._

_Shayne laughs, breath wet between them. His eyes flick away, nervous, but they settle back on Damien with an intensity that nearly stops his heart. "Really?" he murmurs. He pauses, thinking for a moment. "Yeah, I hope not."_

_The moment drags on—lazy, sweaty. Then Shayne seems to loom closer, sink deeper into the room between them, and Damien lets his eyes fall shut before they bump foreheads. The space in Damien's mind is deafening now, even louder than it was in the convention center. He thinks they both want this. But that’s the problem_ : _he only thinks, not knows. Knowing feels so underrated, though, when they’re this close, physically and mentally. All it takes is one head tilt, one broken boundary, one leap of faith until…_

_Until..._

_..._

Across the empty meeting room, the door swings open. Shayne stands at the doorway and the ground nearly falls out from underneath Damien.

“Hey,” Shayne breathes, stepping forward. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Trembling, Damien watches Shayne walk the wide distance to his seat at the benches, and thinks back to the video. “How long have you been looking?” he rasps.

Shayne laughs, handsome. Damien thinks he’s always been that way, handsome, beautiful. “A while,” Shayne answers.

Determination in each step, he reaches Damien. And when Shayne bends down to kiss him, Damien cranes his neck to kiss him back—their second kiss ever, the first one since the night spent slow-dancing in the hotel.

Damien rises into the brush of Shayne’s thumb across his face. They’ve missed each other, they’ve missed this, not just for the weekend apart, but for the years they spent dancing around the truth. This moment is acceptance, and it is history, and it is everything leading up to the shared breath of a secret kiss in an empty office. So Damien doesn’t open his eyes right away when Shayne leans back, but he feels his own cheeks warming in Shayne's hands. He wonders if Shayne's just as happy and warm as he is.

“What are you watching?” Shayne finally murmurs, fingers trailing off Damien’s jaw. Damien’s eyes open with the touch.

“Footage from YouTube Prom,” he replies. “You know. _That_ night.”

“Right, yeah. _That_ night.” Shayne giggles, so obviously smitten. “The night I learned you liked me back.”

“A true night to remember,” Damien sighs. He holds out his hand, and when Shayne takes it, he lets their hands swing between them. For a moment, they bask in their newfound, shared bliss.

Shayne clings onto Damien’s fingertips as he steps back. “Okay, I came in here to tell you we’re running lines in five. I’ll see you in the main office?”

“Don’t bother, I’ll walk with you.” Grinning, Shayne tries to turn away, but Damien tightens his grasp on his hand. “But we can head over in five.”

A smile spreads across Shayne’s face before he melts along the edge of the bench and cozies beside his boyfriend. Pulling him in, Damien brings an arm around Shayne’s hips. He’s grateful for this, grateful for the forces that have allowed his idle fingers to play with the belt loop on Shayne’s pants.

Shayne leans into him, feeling equally lucky. He has no idea how, but they finally fucking made it. And in the same arms that held him the night their lives changed, Shayne finds the answer to his age-old question.

* * *

_So, how do you not completely fall in love with your best friend at prom?_

_Easy—you don't fall at all. Because it's not the clean vertical drop anyone expected. It never is._

_Instead, you ram into love sideways, like a beautiful brunette into a Barack Obama cardboard cutout. And if you're lucky, even after the spill, you'll still find it in you to dance._

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering, the lyrics I included during the slow dance scene came from the song Let Go by Rei Brown.
> 
> Also, feel free to scroll through my Tumblr blog @shaymiens for more ~content~. Thanks for reading <33


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